A poem

Photo by Fey Marin on Unsplash

All decays into despair and death,
even the hopeful ones fall prey to the final breath.
Flowers fade and their leaves wither.
Trees grow old and rot.

What hope awaits me?
None that I can see or feel.

Except a foolish hope,
a splinter of resurrection in reality,
a crack in the…

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Photo by Nikolas Noonan on Unsplash

The demons in my mind
howl like wind in the trees.
Thunderclaps in my head
warn of rain approaching.

I don’t have the medication umbrella
some of my loved ones use for shelter,
or the energy to fight much more.

Instead, I will rest,
a weapon according to Jason Bourne.

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Jonny Masters

Jonny Masters

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I write eclectically, including poetry and stories with themes such as pets, tourism, humour and politics. I also write about being Christian and gay.